Who Fills Your Bowl?

I did it again. I was tired and depleted. I was hungry to be seen, heard, and loved. For someone else to see my empty bowl, and say, Oh my goodness . . . look how much you’ve been giving to everyone else. Sit here. Don’t you move. Rest your tired, body, your spinning mind, your tender heart. Let me cook up something just for you, fill that bowl of yours with delicious nourishment.

But, of course, I didn’t say I was feeling empty. I certainly didn’t express my need or desire in any clear, direct way. I just wanted them to see into me, read my mind, intuit my hunger, and offer precisely what I needed. (Where’s an Enneagram Two when you need one?!?) And surprise surprise, they didn’t do that. I left our time together with my empty bowl, and some profound disappointment, edging toward resentment.

It took me days to remember what I already know, this uncomfortable truth: I am responsible for my own bowl. We all need to be loved, and there are ways in which we give and receive love, that fill each other’s bowls. But ultimately, we are responsible for our own bowl’s care. 

When I was dating in my 20s, I would often get so hurt and disappointed. Why wasn’t he asking more questions? Or listening to what I had to share? Why wasn’t he doing this thoughtful thing for me? Or speaking the words I longed to hear? And when I got upset, why couldn’t he see through the door of my bedroom into my hurting heart and come apologize?

One night when I was feeling particularly down about ever finding good love, I contemplated throwing in the towel. I wondered (or was it prayer?), why can’t someone just read my mind and love me like I want to be loved? A revolutionary response whispered into my mind: I already love you like that, Kimberly.  And you can love yourself too, you know. Not in a self-centered way, but with tender kindness. You’re right about one thing: no one else can read your mind (especially if you don’t speak it.) But here’s a wonderful thing-you can read your own mind! You already know what you need, desire, long to hear.  And you have so much good love to give. How about giving some to yourself? Tell yourself. Love yourself.

Basically, fill your own bowl. Or rather, let’s you and I fill you from the inside. I am the bread of life, I am the living water. Come to me, your Source, and you will never go hungry, thirsty, empty.

I thought of a David Wilcox song I’d been listening to for years, entitled Break in the Cup, about how often we try to make each other happy, striving to be who the other wants us to be. Often, we just end up pouring ourselves out, finding ourselves empty. The song ends with the lines:

We cannot trade empty for empty.

We must go to the waterfall.

For there’s a break in the cup

     that holds love inside us all.

Waking up to this Love that was already and always there changed everything. It could actually fill what felt like a bottomless well inside me. And then I didn’t expect this partner or this friend, this family or community, or even the sum total of them, to give me the love I needed. I could just receive the love they were each able to give in the ways they could give it. I learned that we’re all so different, we actually have to teach one another how to love us well. Over time, in many of these relationships, I could express what helps me feel loved, and learn what makes others feel loved. We could grow in our understanding of and care for one another.

But as much as we want to, as hard as we try, we can never completely fill each other.  We are tiny, flawed vessels, and there is but one Source.

Clearly, I still forget. I crave more imperfect, human love, even if it’s not enough. I want it to come from particular people at particular times. Meanwhile, I may totally miss a gift of love coming from an unexpected channel. Sometimes I still wish other people could read my mind, particularly when I feel too tired and worn out to read my own. But I know this is a fool’s errand. As others have so wisely said, wishes and expectations like that are just disappointments waiting to happen.

So lately, I’ve been starting my day remembering Who fills me. I take into my hands this beautiful pottery bowl my friend made for me (there’s love!) and sit under a little lap blanket knit for my baby boy (more love). I sit cross-legged in the early morning light, hear the birds waking into song. I hold my bowl in my lap, feel its size, its shape, its heft. I look down into it and admire its earth-colored contours. I sit in silence. There is plenty of love and nourishment to be found, if I just remember where to bring my bowl.

Would Jesus Own a Gun?

In the past month, the stories of gun violence have moved a lot closer to home. A student from Paideia (where Michael works and Theo attends) caught a bullet in his leg walking to the local skate park. Last week, Paideia itself went on lockdown, and Theo’s after school soccer practice was canceled, due to an active shooter being on the loose in Midtown Atlanta. And one of my closest friends, on his way home from work as usual at 3:40 in the afternoon, had to hunker down in his car, as a young man with a gun ran through the nearby gas station, then turned, shot and killed another man on the sidewalk. My friend was close enough to witness that human breathing his final breaths in a pool of blood.

This, while nearly every day we see and hear on the news of another shooting--eight dead at a shopping mall in Texas, one killed and four injured in a waiting room in Atlanta, five in Texas killed by a neighbor, who was asked to stop firing his gun so their baby could sleep, four killed and 32 injured at a birthday party in Alabama, five killed in a Louisville bank, three children and three adults killed in a private, Christian elementary school in Nashville. Plus there are the individuals shot for ringing the wrong doorbell, turning around in a driveway, and opening the wrong car door, simple things I imagine many of us have done.

Like you, I grieve for every family and community devastated by this senseless gun violence. As a parent, I am scared to death that we could receive a call that one of our own boys is trapped in his school with an active shooter. For the first time ever, I had misgivings about taking our boys to a local arts and music festival.

Our epidemic of gun violence is intolerable, but it is not inevitable. As a society, we do not have to live like this. We can choose another way. And as people of faith, I believe we must advocate and labor for that more voraciously. Enough is enough.

As a United States citizen, I believe the Second Amendment of the Constitution protects my right to own and responsibly use a gun. As a follower of Jesus Christ, I believe I am lovingly forbidden from doing so. My faith in Jesus demands I do far more than protect my own legal rights, especially one that is completely antithetical to the way of Christ.

Jesus, also called the Prince of Peace, taught and modeled, lived his entire life, and died his death with compassion and nonviolence.

• In his famous Sermon on the Mount, he said “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:43-45).

• When Jesus himself was arrested, which would eventually lead to his execution, one of his disciples drew a sword, and struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear. Jesus responded, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (Matthew 26:4 -56). 

• After angry mobs cheered for his crucifixion, and he was nailed to a cross, Jesus did not retaliate, but instead said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. (Luke 23:34)

• When Jesus was raised from the dead, he did not avenge those who had executed him, nor shame his disciples who deserted him, but came back speaking “Peace”, and sending his disciples out to live an alternative, nonviolent, compassionate life in this world, following his example, taking up their own crosses.

• Countless Christians in the two millennium since Jesus lived, have endured persecution, violence, and death, holding true to Jesus‘s way of nonviolence.

Let me be clear. I do not want to die. There have been times when, out of my own fear of violence, I wanted to protect myself. But I will not own a gun. I do not want the power to end life in my hands, lest my fear or anger lead me to take another’s life, even an enemy who seeks my harm. As a child, I grew up in a household with a gun, there presumably to protect our family from harm. But I also grew up with a grandfather who committed suicide. So the presence of that gun created more anxiety than a feeling of safety for me. The one time I heard it go off, I was absolutely terrified, until I confirmed it was shot to scare off an intruding raccoon.

Maybe other people have different experiences, but for me, the proliferation of guns in our country does not render us more safe, but puts all of us in more danger. Especially with the increased levels of fear and anger, hatred and hostility among us. How many humans have to die, how close to home, to our own loves, does it have to get for us to collectively decide we do not want to live like this, and we come together to try to stem the tide of gun violence?

I’m not saying, there are easy solutions. It is a shocking fact that there are more guns than residents of the United States. Of course, if someone really wants to kill, they may very well find a way. But we can certainly make it a lot harder, dramatically reduce the number of humans lost to gun violence. We can ban military style assault rifles designed to rapidly mow down human beings. We can increase the minimum age for gun ownership (If you aren’t deemed mature enough to handle alcohol, you probably shouldn’t handle a firearm). And for God’s sake, we can stop glorifying guns by plastering them on our vehicles, T-shirts, campaign signs, and Christmas cards. Of all our American idols, it’s hard to imagine one that more grieves the heart of God.

I know it’s tempting to feel resigned and despairing, like there’s nothing we can do. There is always more we can do, starting with reckoning with how God and Jesus ask us to treat one another. Love one another. Forgive each other. Pray for your enemies. Do not be afraid. Do not return evil for evil. Be a peacemaker. 

I think about Etty Hillesum, the young Jewish woman from Amsterdam, who was killed in Auschwitz at the age of 29. Shortly before she wrote in her journal, “Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in our troubled world.” In another place she writes, “The threat grows ever greater, and terror increases from day to day. I draw prayer around me like a dark protective wall, withdraw inside it as one might into a convent cell and then step outside again, calmer and stronger and more collected again. I can imagine times too, when I shall stay on my knees for days on end waiting until the protective walls are strong enough to prevent my going to pieces altogether.” (from An Interrupted Life: the Journal of a Young Jewish Woman, 1941-1943)

What are we doing with our own fear and terror? Toward whom do we feel hostility and hatred? Can we confess our own desire to see harm done to others, any pleasure we get when others ‘get what they have coming to them’ in our limited human opinion? How do we pray for love, compassion and mercy beyond our current capacity? How do we remember to see everyone, everyone, everyone (the immigrant, the super gun owner, the trans athlete, the child trafficker) as a beloved child of God? How do we grow the peace in us, so there is more peace in the world? Whether we own guns or not, whether we advocate for common sense gun reform or not, we are all responsible for the levels of peace and or violence in our own hearts and minds.

What is ours to do? God, have mercy on us all as we labor for a more peaceful world. May we all stay safe and loving, beat our guns into gardening tools (Isaiah 2:4), and be instruments of your peace.

Wrestling with you,

Kimberly

Yelling at God

can still remember one of the first times I yelled at God. 

Before I met and married Michael, I struggled mightily with loneliness. I worried I would never experience lasting human love in my life, that I was somehow tragically flawed. Dating was mostly abysmal for me, and I really thought God should be intervening in more helpful ways. Here I was working for the Lord, and would it be so hard for God to send me some companionship? I was over it.      

One night, I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, looking out the window at the moon. When up and out of me came, “I’m so mad at You, I don’t even want to talk to You. Leave me alone!”

           I have to admit, it scared me when I yelled out. I was not comfortable feeling anger, much less expressing it, must less expressing it in prayer. I half expected lightening to strike me down. What if I offended God? Or what if God actually did what I said? Truth was, I didn’t actually want to be left alone. Like a child crying out, what I needed was to be able to say how hurt and angry I felt and for God to stay right there loving me. 

           And God did. I felt an internal embrace, a silent “I know, child.” And this began to change everything for us.

           It’s tempting sometimes to wait to talk with God until we can get our act together, figure things out, sound pretty and polished. One of my favorite lines in a hymn speaks to our hesitancy: “If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come at all.” Maybe we still have some fear, don’t quite trust God loves and accepts us as we really and fully are. Or maybe we struggle with good old pride; we don’t like to admit we’re as messy and needy as we are. If only we could figure things out, get ourselves together, and manage  lives on our own, that would be ideal. And oh, how we try!

           But sometimes, maybe most of the time, we can’t. We don’t. This being human is hard. There is so much beauty and goodness in this world. And there is also so much pain, injustice, loss and suffering. Last summer, I reconnected with a dear friend from high school. He had recently endured some unimaginable loss and pain in his family. We commented how for us, those high school days were some of the best of our lives; we had no idea what was coming   Life does not go the way we plan. We suffer and witness incredible loss and devastation. We come undone, fall apart, or get downright angry about the state of affairs. We are humans, not machines, after all. 

           Where are we do put all those hard, painful emotions and states of being that naturally stir in us? I think about Richard Rohr’s wise one-liner - “If we do not transform our pain, we will transmit it.” Or we will stuff it down and it poisons us and leaks out all over.

           I have come to believe we have to welcome the fullness of our humanity, let ourselves feel all that we really feel. AND we have to have find safe expression for it, in prayer, among other places.  I believe God wants us whole and authentic, welcomes our anger, confusion and questioning as much as our praise, gratitude and faith.  And in fact, it is often when I feel most in pain, desperate, broken open, that I feel God most tenderly.

           In Lent, we follow Jesus through the wilderness, down his hard road to rejection, betrayal, suffering and death. We follow him into Gethsemane and to Golgotha, where he lets his full humanity rip in prayer to his Abba. May we continue to watch and learn, how to be fully human, and let God have it all.

Too Busy Loving

It’s time to leave the playground.

He begs for my phone. (They’ve become as attached to these devices as we are.)

I’m trying to hold better boundaries, for them, as well as myself.

Plus, it’s almost out of charge.

I tell him no.

He wails like a banshee.

As soon as we’re all buckled in and pulling away, he goes for the jugular.

I don’t love you Mommy.

He knows I’m a sucker for his sweet affection.

I don’t bite.

I’m onto this recent pattern.

We’ve talked many a time about how he can be really disappointed, upset, even mad with me, and still love me.

He and I both know his words don’t match his heart.

I say, OK, I still love you, you know.

I light up my face and lock eyes with him in the rear view mirror.

He doesn’t crack.

He really IS mad.

He breaks my gaze, looks out the window.

I don’t love trees.

I don’t love dinosaurs.

I don’t love babies.

Pause.

I look back and catch a sheepish grin.

The truth is, he can’t keep his eyes or hands off babies.

In fact, just an hour earlier, he leaned into his friend’s baby sister,

           and said, Hey cutie pie!

She beamed up at him and cooed.

He told me in the car afterword

           Eleanor’s so cute, she blew up my mind!

           She’s so cute, I fell into love with her.

I don’t love babies, he now says. 

And we both continue the litany of all the things he adores.

I have to believe this is how God loves us.

We can beg and plead, we can wail, we can rage.

We can say we don’t love what we love.

No matter.

I just hope we don’t miss Her crinkly eyes and wide grin in the mirror.

“It is truly hard for us to see the truth that disapproval does not seem to be part of God‘s DNA. God is just too busy loving us to have any time left for disappointment.” (~Greg Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart)

Why Do Lent?

The Lenten Whole40 Experiment has begun! I, along with ten other brave souls, have started the Lenten practices of fasting and feasting week to week, with self-reflection and community support along the way. I am eager to hear how it’s going for others.

As for me, I have to confess, I thought we were starting pretty easy, that I would breeze through this week’s challenges. Not so much. I have loved being more intentional about my water intake, getting more sleep, and eating my meals more mindfully. My body is grateful to feel better rested, hydrated, and nourished.

But I had no idea I was such a prolific, largely unconscious, snacker! I keep catching myself perusing the shelves of my pantry, wanting to polish off the snacks in the boys’ lunch boxes, or trying to justify adding snacks to my meals. I’ve been ruminating on the question, What technically counts as a snack? code for, How can I find a work around? And surprise, surprise, I’ve been hungry, at times hangry!

Of course, that’s part of the point of the experiment. It’s not about self-denial for the sake of self-denial. It’s about examining our true hunger and thirst, and paying attention to what is truly nourishing. In those moments I catch myself craving my boys’ Doritos (ok, maybe I DID eat the crumbs out of the bottom of the bag) or feeling bummed I have to turn down the birthday cookie cake, I feel my hunger more profoundly, and I feel more grateful for the good food I get to enjoy at meal time.

It is easy with Lent, and with other religious traditions and rituals, to get so focused on the WHAT that we lose sight of the WHY. As a youth, I remember giving up French fries for Lent one year. Then, when friends offered to share theirs with me, I would abjectly respond, “No, I can’t. I gave them up for Lent.”  {Sigh} I did love fries and it felt hard at the time to go forty days without any. But when you read Matthew 6:1-18, (often read on Ash Wednesday), which begins, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them. . . ” you can see I pretty much missed the point.   If I’m honest, what I was really doing was giving the appearance of being “spiritual,” while secretly hoping my Lenten practice would bode well for my figure come swimsuit season.

Oh, well, we all start somewhere. I, of course, had no real concept of my own mortality. Nor the accompanying awareness of how fragile, yet precious our lives are. I thought I had all the time in the world. Now, I painfully, beautifully, know otherwise.

So being marked with ashes on Ash Wednesday, hearing the sober truth, “From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.” has become an annual wake up call. Between ashes and ashes, I am given the Breath of life. What a gift! And then Lent becomes a season to ask myself important questions:

What am I doing with my life?

Am I spending my time, energy, and resources on what truly gives life to myself and others?

Am I conscious of my deep hunger for Love and Love’s longing for me?

How do I wander away, seduced by substitutes that will never truly satisfy?

What distracts or numbs or tempts me to forget who and Whose I am?

How can I live in a more perpetual awareness of God‘s love for me and offer myself to join God in the healing of the world?

I am grateful for Lenten practices – prayer, self-observation, fasting and feasting, and a community of kindred spirits to focus my awareness on the gift of life, and to give space to ask ourselves essential questions.

How are you observing this Lent? Whether it’s through fasting from something that distracts you, being more intentional about a daily prayer practice, giving time and treasure to help relieve our suffering neighbors, I hope we do not lose sight of the WHY. Lent is a season to remember, to return, to repent, which is a church-y word meaning to change the direction we are seeking life. More important even than the WHY, I hope we remember the WHO, a God who, like the prodigal father in Luke 15, is just waiting, waiting, waiting for us to come to our senses, to come Home and feast on the love that will never let us go.

Lenten Whole40

I want to invite you to participate in a Lenten Experiment.

I'm calling it Lenten Whole40, and much like the popular Whole30 program, the hope is to find a spiritual diet that is more nourishing for our whole beings - body, mind, heart and soul.

I don't know about you, but as we begin February, I'm aware of how I've already neglected some of my New Year's hopes and intentions. As a favorite seminary professor used to say, We are often more clear on how we want to live, then on what keeps us from living into those hopes and ideals.

Thankfully, the season of Lent offers us another fresh start, and the opportunity to explore that very dilemma. We examine how we actually spend our days, and what pulls us away from our heart and soul's true Home and longing. The three traditional spiritual disciplines of Lent - fasting, prayer, and giving, offer us important correctives.

As a spiritual director who sits and listens with a variety of people, whether one-to-one, in small groups, or during retreats, I regularly hear people express the desire to pray in meaningful ways. They want to move beyond transactional prayer to transformational prayer, not just saying prayers, but living prayerfully. Yet it can be difficult to know where to start or how to sustain a regular prayer practice, especially amidst all the noise and distraction of our contemporary lives. Committing to a daily practice indefinitely can seem daunting; but the forty days of Lent offer us a golden opportunity to learn and try on prayer practices, and hopefully develop a spiritual diet that is nourishing, that we want to continue beyond Easter.

So if you're looking for a spiritual reset, a creative way to observe the season of Lent in community with other seekers, I invite you to check out Lenten Whole40. You can read more details below. Let me know if you have any questions or would like to sign up.

Savoring by Subtracting

It happened again. As part of the New Years Sacred Pause Retreat we were enjoying a silent meal together. The nine of us were spaced between two tables, with a palpable awareness of these beloveds sharing this quiet, gently glowing space. I heard the delightful sounds of chairs pulling up, silverware clinking plates, water filling glasses. I noticed the different textures, colors and flavors of my own plate, relieved and grateful it was delicious too.

With the experience and two of the recipes coming from Green Bough, I couldn’t help but remember my first silent meal there over twenty years ago. I remembered pushing through my discomfort of sitting elbow to elbow without speaking a word to one another. The breeze through the window gently blowing the lacey curtains. The curiously small pottery plates. The photographs and cards surrounding the old family table, reminding us of the beloved community that calls this place home. Piling my small plate full of beautiful, colorful, delicious food prepared with such love, then struggling to eat it all.

That silent meal and small plate changed my whole life. In the silence, I realized that plate was my life. I was accustomed to piling on and plowing through, mindlessly consuming my days, moments, and encounters, without really tasting them, certainly not savoring them. How often was my body present once place, whether in a kitchen chair, on a hiking trail, or in a wooden pew, but my mind was somewhere else completely? When I was honest, I valued my days and myself in terms of my productivity, not presence. There was no way I could “taste and see the Lord is good” as the psalmist commends (Psalm 34:8), because I was far too busy producing and consuming.

I’ve been trying to slow down, simplify, be present, taste and savor my life ever since. Of course, it sounds so inviting, so simple. But it is not easy. It is completely counter-cultural. A still, small voice in us whispers, Less is More, but easily gets drowned out by our consumer capitalist culture pounding, More is always Better. Do more, buy more, go bigger, go further, go viral. Not only do we have to turn down all those voices, inside and out, but we have to discern and make really hard choices. To use the plate metaphor, we have to say NO to a lot of potentially delicious food - things, activities, even relationships, to say YES to really tasting and savoring the few we choose to put on our plate.

As I read back my journal at Sunday’s retreat, an opportunity to taste again the year that has passed and receive more nourishment from it, I could see that I am STILL, after all these years, prone to overdoing--overthinking, overplanning, overscheduling, overefforting. Old habits die hard. I still make these impossible daily and monthly To Do lists. The good news is that I am not enslaved to them in the same way. I do live or die by how much I get checked off the lists. I hold them more lightly, knowing full well that I will not get to everything on the list, or I will, but it will take me 2-5 times longer than I think. IF I want to actually be present to and enjoy the work and people involved.

I also believe that as hard as it, simplifying is worth it. I feel most joyful and peaceful, and also most loving and purposeful when I have time and space for prayer and meditation, for authentic, depth relationships, for quiet pleasures, and for creative, meaningful work. By the world’s standards, it may not compute, but learning to truly savor and offer this one precious life I’ve been given is worth it. It feels like the pearl of great price to me. (Matthew 13:45-46)

It’s also got me thinking in this new year, what else can I let go or subtract? Where do I spend precious time and attention on things that aren’t that important, don’t bring joy or life or meaning for myself or others? With the constant interruptions of our phones and computers, it is so easy to lose our focus, fritter our time away. Or the even harder discernment, what good things may I also need to let go of, to truly focus on the few essential things? I think of the wisdom of the Domenican mystic, Meister Eckhart, “God is not found in the soul by adding anything, but by a process of subtraction.”

As we continue wading into the new year, I wonder, what might you need to subtract from your life, in order to live more fully and deeply, to taste and see that your life, and the God in the center of your soul, is good indeed?

Simply,

Kimberly

Blessings of a New Year

Blessings of a fresh new year to you! I hope you had the best holiday season available to you, and are entering this new year feeling somewhat rested and renewed. It's been a year, hasn't it?

I've always loved these more quiet, gentle days between Christmas and the return to school and work. After the holiday gatherings with friends and family, after the travels, after the bags are unpacked and the new gifts find their place, there's this rare lull. The schedule is more simple. The communication slows. We can take out time rising and pushing out into the world. It's like we all need a collective break from the going and doing, the noise and activity, to come back to ourselves, get our bearings, and begin again. I don't know about you, but I really do feel a sense of hope, energy and fresh possibility. Partly, of course, it's the turning of the new year. But partly, I think, it's this time when we may just feel more rested, free, and open because there is not as much demanding our time and attention.

That said, I do still have two small boys running around, so I don't always get to reflecting on the year behind and the year ahead like I want to. And honestly, I'm often so tired from all the December decision making and tasking, the last thing I want to do immediately is make all kinds of new resolutions and To Do lists. I'm grateful for the wisdom to spread times prayer, reflection and discernment over the whole month, to give myself permission to gently enter into January with enough space and time to find my way.

Perhaps another gift of growing older and a little wiser is that I'm pretty clear on what makes for a good life for me: warm and deep relationships, meaningful work, a gentle pace, time for reading, prayer and reflection, enough movement and rest. Granted, the knowing can be pretty simple, it's the living it out that can be more challenging, especially when there are so many competing messages and claims upon us. I appreciated this Atlantic article that posited we usually get the happiness formula all wrong, concentrating on self-actualization and material gain, when the happiness research finds that it's our investment in RELATIONSHIPS that makes for a healthy and fulfilling life. I think we know this at some level, but it can still be hard to prioritize.

So here's to another year of trying to prioritize what truly makes for LIFE for each and all of us. If you are someone who also longs for spiritual community and practice, who wants to prioritize them in the new year, I'd love to support you. Whether it's attending the Sacred Pause Retreat next Sunday, joining the Tuesday evening Wellsprings circle, participating in the weekly FLOW of prayer, spiritual reading, and reflection, or receiving monthly spiritual direction, I hope Deep Waters may offer you space to really listen to your life and find new joy, meaning, connection and direction in the year ahead.

Grace and peace in your 2023,

Kimberly

Entering into Advent

Grace and Peace to you this first week of Advent! I hope you had a restful and connecting Thanksgiving, wherever yours took you, geographically and otherwise.

If you're anything like me, the first Sunday of Advent may catch us full, rested, yet unprepared. Even though I watched and helped my mom remove all the Fall/Thanksgiving decor, and completely transform rooms with Christmas adornment, greenery and lights within the space of 24 hours (she's got it down to a fine art/science), I imagine many of us take a bit longer to enter into the season. Much like New Year's, I've made peace with the reality that I may not be fully ready and prepared on day one. Advent is a season of preparation after all. And if I actually want to enjoy the preparations, be fully present in them, I cannot do them all at once.

But I am grateful that certain practices guide my way in. I love returning to our church the Sunday after Thanksgiving for the intergenerational Advent Festival where I know I will make an Advent wreath with my boys, and choose angels from the Angel Tree. We will go select a tree from the First Christian Church of Decatur (though it may take us days to fully decorate it). We will hang our Advent garland around the kitchen table, and begin counting the days, praying for someone different every night of the season.

And one of the practices that really helps me stay grounded and centered in the spiritual meaning of the season is daily prayer and reading. Perhaps more than anything, returning to the Advent scriptures, to stories about longing and waiting, to meditations on what the coming of Christ meant then and what it means now, brings me into the Advent posture. Which is to say, they remind me that I am not ultimately in control, that I long for a Peace, Presence and Power that is beyond me. I then repeatedly remind myself during the busy, sometimes chaotic season that my preparations are occasions for prayer, not mere tasks to check off a list, or distractions that keep me from the One I most long for. That's always the challenge, and I'm grateful for a daily practice that keeps me coming back to that central yearning.

What are the Advent practices and rituals that help you get into the Spirit and meaning of the season? What desires and values shape your decisions about what to do and not do during this season when so much is on offer? What keeps you centered and grounded, in a posture of expectancy for the One who comes?

If you're looking for daily readings for Advent and Christmas, here are some of my favorites that I return to year after year:

• Watch for the Light - multiple writers

• Goodness and Light - multiple writers

• Celebrating Abundance with Walter Brueggemann

• Preparing for Christmas with Richard Rohr

• The Season of Waiting with Kate Bowler

If you'd like a little structure, guidance and community to keep you in a rhythm of Advent prayer and waiting, I invite you to check out the Advent Flow, or join us for the Advent Quiet Night on Sunday, December 18. However long it takes you to enter into the season, you are welcome to join us!

And on that note, Michael and I recently got to hear one of my favorite singer/songwriters Carrie Newcomer here in Atlanta. Among the many new songs she shared with us, I was completely taken with the title and lyrics of this one, Take More Time, Cover Less Ground. Here's a taste, and you can watch Carrie introduce and sing it here.

"Now in the season of come on home

Slowing my life to the speed of my soul

Now when the reason’s been never so clear

At the end of a hard but holy year.“

Whatever your practices and preparations, I pray they are full of the wonder and holy longing of the season, that you will feel met in your own swirl of hopes and fears. May we know what we seek has already been found. May we take more time, and cover less ground.

Advent Blessings,

Kimberly

Finding Your Spiritual Flow

It began with HUNGER. My own hunger. And the hunger of those who sat in my presence sharing about their lives.

• We spoke about loneliness, disappointing relationships and a hunger for connection with more substance and depth.

• We spoke about busyness, distraction and a hunger to stay more centered and grounded.

• We spoke about living in these challenging times in an increasingly secular culture and a hunger to live with more faithfulness, purpose and meaning.

• We spoke about fear, anxiety, lack of control and a hunger to entrust our lives to the God who creates and holds us all in Love.

           Even if our lives were full, our souls were hungry, sometimes even famished.

      Out of this shared hunger, FLOW was born. FLOW is a menu of curated spiritual practices, readings, and connection points designed to keep us spiritually nourished. It turns out that much like our bodies need daily nutrition, so do our souls. The occasional taste or meal is just not enough to sustain us, especially in these intense, depleting times. We need regular spiritual nourishment, at least if we hope to live with abiding faith, hope and love.

In the Summer of 2021, I extended the invitation for other seekers to join me. Over the past year and a half, kindred spirits have said yes and joined our delightful, growing community. We have learned and grown together, made some tweaks to the rhythm along the way, and I’m happy to celebrate this journey and invite you once again to join us.

Here are some of the gifts of FLOW -

• Sustaining Rhythm - Many people long for a life of prayer, but don’t know where to start. FLOW offers a regular, consistent rhythm that includes daily, weekly, monthly, and quarterly times for prayer and reflection. With each practice, I’m happy to offer you guidance, but also encourage you to adapt to suit your own soul and schedule.

• Flexibility - Taken as a whole, that can sound like a lot! If we’re already feeling too busy and overwhelmed, how can we possibly add all this? You don’t have to do it all!  Participants are invited to find a rhythm that works for them. Maybe you like the Monday Soul Tunings and suggested daily readings. Maybe you like the bi-weekly Contemplative Prayer Circles and the Sacred Pause Retreats. With the exception of the retreat afternoons, most everything is offered virtually, so you can stay in the comfort of your own home, and tune in for 30 minutes-one hour per week. Even this small commitment can make a big difference.

• Community of Kindred Spirits - Even if we’re part of a faith community, many of us feel like we’re on our own in our spiritual journeys. While we have our own unique souls and journeys, we do not have to go it alone. In FLOW, we find other seekers and practice being a community of solitudes, focused on our own inner work but surrounded and nourished by the support, encouragement and care of other wise souls.

• Shared Spiritual Readings - There are so many incredible spiritual teachers, books and resources out there. But it can be a little overwhelming or confusing to choose. I love listening to the group and curating daily readings, season by season. It is powerful to all be reading something together on a daily basis, and this gives us common teaching and language that informs our personal reflection and communal conversations.

• Gentle Accountability - We may all long for more spiritual discipline in our life. But left to our own devices, we often flame out. Having a recommended structure and community keeps us showing up. When we do get off track, we gently bring ourselves back.

• Soul Nourishment - There is so much in our world that seduces us away from our soul’s true longing to be connected in love with Source and one another. St. Augustine prayed, “O God, you have made us for Yourself and our hearts our restless until they rest in You.” We can forget this, or seek satisfaction in thousands of other less-than-satisfying ways. FLOW reminds us of our true hunger, and invites us to come pull up a chair and feast with God in the Beloved Community.

• Gratitude Perks - In gratitude and honor of those who make this investment in their spiritual lives, I offer early invitations and discounts to Deep Waters offerings, including Women’s Spirituality Groups, the February’s Women’s Spiritual Renewal Retreat, the quarterly Sacred Pause Retreats, and other seasonal groups and classes. An ANNUAL subscription also offers an additional discount and a complimentary Spiritual Direction session.

Whether you already have a regular prayer practice or don’t know where to start, whether you are here in Atlanta or elsewhere, whether you have a faith community you call home or have struggled to find your people or place, I sincerely hope Flow will meet you where you are and provide a way to begin or deepen your experience of both prayer and community. AND . . .

Now is an ideal time to check out FLOW! The season of Advent begins November 27, the Sunday after Thanksgiving . So if you subscribe now, you can try on some or all that FLOW offers for the season and see if it’s something you’d like to continue in the new year.  I would love to welcome you into our community of kindred spirits and support your spiritual journey during this holy season.

I'm a Christian. And a Democrat. Here's Why

We're in our second week of early voting here in Georgia; I've been heartened by the strong turn-out. As much fear and anxiety can churn in the weeks before an election, I'm choosing to lean hard into hope. Perfectly timed, my Women's Spirituality Group is reading Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark (you can read the opening here), where she writes that with uncertainty, there is space for hope, and for believing our personal and collective actions can and do make a difference.

In that vein, I encourage you to vote early. (You can still vote now through November 4, including THIS weekend here in GA. Feel free to message me if you have any questions). Beyond that, I encourage you to share about why and how you vote, and to encourage friends and family, neighbors and colleagues to vote as well. Our vote is our voice in our democracy, (which reminds me of this favorite Alicia Keys and Brandi Carlile song, A Beautiful Noise, which I highly recommend to get you in the GOTV spirit!)

(I'm just gonna warn you, I was a little link-happy when writing this, so if you need more time, and a cup of coffee, tea or wine to accompany you, go for it! :))

It will come as no surprise that I am a passionate Democrat, and was happy to cast my early vote for Rev. Raphael Warnock, Stacey Abrams, Becky Evans (my fellow NDPC church member!) and other Democrats here in the Georgia election. In this divisive age where we so easily write off, even despise people with different views and voting records, I feel compelled to write again about why I am voting blue. I think if we could share our stories, the personal beliefs and experiences that have led us to vote the way we do, it would go a long way to healing some of our divides. (Which is why I love listening to the Run-Up podcast, where Astead Herndon interview voters across the political spectrum.) What if we started by trying to understand where others are coming from, without feeling the need to argue or try to change them? Seriously, when was the last time we had a conversation with someone of the opposite party, and just listened, without getting defensive or worked up? (I know . . . it's SO hard!)

So I’m sharing part of my story again, with an update for this election. If you’ve come this far, I appreciate your willingness to read on, whether you think the same way or not, and especially in a season when you may already be bombarded with political emails. I hope this one feels a little different; I’m not asking for a donation, just a somewhat open mind and heart to someone you already know. I offer the same to you, if you feel like sharing a bit of your own political story. I think we’re less likely to write people off, if we can put some beloved names and faces with the label Democrat or Republican.

I grew up thinking that being Christian and voting Republican went hand-in-hand. There was much about the Republican platform at the time, like fiscal responsibility, and “family values” that appealed to me. As a youth I was also encouraged to “love God with all my mind,” meaning to ask questions about my faith, to think critically about why I believe what I do, and how I live that out. I came to see that being Christian wasn’t just about my personal salvation, but about coming to know the love of God that creates and embraces the whole world ("God so loved the world . . ." not just Christians or Americans). I saw that the call to love my neighbor meant orienting my life toward others and trying to help build the Beloved Community (what Jesus called the “Kingdom of God”), rather than focusing on what was best for me and mine alone.

I began to see my vote, and the larger call of citizenship, as one important way to love my neighbor. And God kept stretching my own definition of neighbor . . . LGBTQ family and friends, people of other faith traditions and none at all, immigrants working among us and showing up at our border in crisis, people of color still experiencing racial oppression and violence, women on the margins who feel damned if they do, damned if they do not have the baby, and the planet itself. I’ll confess, I continue to find it way easier to love Jesus, than to love all of his friends! Lord, have mercy.

I don’t believe I can love my neighbors AND vote against their wholeness and thriving, much less dehumanize or threaten them . So I vote for candidates and policies that come closest to a Christian ethic of caring for all, and particularly those most neglected and despised, the “least of these” Jesus called us to serve in Matthew 25.

No party, person or platform is perfect, or in complete alignment with my beliefs and values, but I am not looking for perfect. I am hoping we as a people, as a democracy, guided by our elected leaders, will do more good, and less harm (very Wesleyan for those who grew up United Methodist), to help every American thrive. Even with all that currently ails us, I still really believe in the American project of democracy, and how we can all contribute as citizens to make it a more perfect union. For me, being patriotic means seeing our nation whole - its brilliance and its blemishes, its aspirations and its failures. It is not all rotten, AND it is not all roses. I believe love of country demands that we keep trying to make it better.

As for this particular election . . .

Of course, I along with most Americans have felt the pinch of inflation and higher gas prices. I literally cried the first time I pumped gas after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As a family, we have had to cut back in a number of areas (yay for Aldi!) to stay within our budget . And I don’t like watching our retirement savings decline any more than the next guy. (But I also try to remember it is a privilege to be able to save, while millions of Americans struggle so much more just to make ends meet.)

But I see these global economic realities as the result of the pandemic, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the recent OPEC decision to cut oil production, and corporate price gouging to take advantage of the crisis. I am proud of Biden and Democrats trying to steer us through these unprecedented waters of recovering from the pandemic, for the slow economic relief and growth provided. Truly, there have been so many times, I’ve wanted to shout, “SEE, that’s government working on our behalf!” I’m delighted that even in these tough times, with razor-thin majorities, we’ve been able to pass historic climate change and infrastructure spending bills, bi-partisan gun safety legislation, lower the costs of prescription drugs, cancel crippling student debt, and make sure everyone pays their fair share of taxes, so we can pay for these critical measures.

And I just don’t buy the Republican talking point that they’re being better on the economy. A booming stock market is not a boom for all Americans. Wealth inequality has reached staggering proportions (Please watch this.). Since I’ve been of voting age, it's the Democratic presidents (Clinton and Obama) who have presided over the times of economic growth and national debt reduction. Our family has personally received a lot more financial relief under Democratic leadership, including most recently Biden’s Child Tax Credits (which also cut child poverty rates to record lows), while being unaffected by Trump’s tax cuts for the wealthy.

There are real differences in our parties' approaches to the economy (outlined in this balanced article). Growing up, I regularly heard folks celebrate Reagan and trickle-down economics. I have just never been able to square it with the teachings of Jesus, who taught about the dangers of wealth more than any other topic other than the Kingdom of God (I don’t hear many Christians advocating for taking THOSE texts literally.)

I see self-centeredness and greed as the biggest problems facing us. And before we go pointing the finger, I think we all struggle with these, if we’re honest. I happen to think that having either TOO MUCH wealth or TOO LITTLE is actually not healthy for anyone. So yes, I am for policies that try to rein in our greed and create a society in which everyone has enough, where no one is poor or hungry in a country of such affluence. If that sounds like pie-in-the-sky, bleeding heart liberalism, I don’t know what to say except, that’s what I learned from the prophets and from Jesus, even when I would have preferred to avoid those messages. So I celebrate the measures Biden and Democrats have taken and will take to reduce childhood poverty, relieve debt, raise minimum wage, protect Social Security and Medicare, bring down healthcare costs and help working families.

My biggest concern THIS election cycle is the survival of our democracy. I would love for history to prove my concern to be overly dramatic. But there are so many people I respect sounding the alarms. Democracy is not a given, it is in fact fragile, and it is absolutely being tested.

As if the four or five years of Trump’s divisive, dishonest, erratic “leadership” were not damaging enough. Here was a human so desperate to hold onto power, to not admit he lost, that he sowed lies and misinformation about the 2020 election (before, after and ever since), causing alarming numbers of Americans to doubt or contest the legitimacy of our elections. And as if that was not enough, his Big Lie strategy led to something I never, ever thought I would see here in America . . . a violent insurrection and attempted coup on January 6, 2021. I have watched or listened to almost all of the January 6 hearings, and am awestruck by the testimony of fellow Americans, mostly Republicans by the way, spelling out the truth of what happened, in an impassioned plea for us to all safeguard our democracy in any way we can.

Whatever party we typically support, I do not see how we can vote for candidates who deny the legitimacy of the 2020 election, who continue to push the lie that it was rigged or stolen, when no allegations of widespread fraud held up in our courts where people had to tell the truth. I believe that at our best, the United States has two or more healthy, functioning parties to vigorously debate ideas and policies, balancing each other out; there are things we need to “conserve” and ways we need to “progress.” I desperately hope that the GOP can somehow free itself of Trumpism; how I long for the days of a John McCain, Mitt Romney, or even George Bush presidential bid (I never thought I would say that!). In the meantime, I think we have to support candidates who believe in free and fair elections, and do not propagate the Big Lie. We cannot believe for a minute, that Trump and those like him, will not attempt to subvert our democracy again. And if we lose our democracy, it won’t matter how we feel about abortion, climate change, taxes, or whatever because we all stand to lose the America we love.

I could go on about why I support Democratic leaders, values and policies on specific issues. (You can read more here where I wrote a similar post about supporting the Biden/Harris ticket in 2020) On the whole, I feel like Democrats are more clear-eyed about the threats and struggles facing everyday Americans --shrinking economic opportunities for America’s middle class, violent, white Christian nationalism, climate change, insurmountable student debt and healthcare costs--and are TRYING to address them with bold ideas and initiatives. I feel like I mostly hear Republicans vent grievances and attacking Democrats, without articulating what they are FOR or offering clear proposals of what they would do differently. I think about one of the great lines from Hamilton: “Winning was easy, governing is harder.” At the end of the day, I want leaders who are not just fighting to win and hold onto power, but are ready to roll up their sleeves, get to work and govern.

I am so grateful for the awesome freedoms and opportunities that come from being an American citizen. In gratitude, I want to invest (yes, pay taxes, participate and VOTE) in a democracy where we can all thrive, not just the people who look and think, believe and work like me. What an awesome vision of what we can be --glorious people of multiple races and ethnicities, faith traditions, and ways of being and loving, learning from and enriching one another, while doing the hard, messy work of trying to figure out the most peaceful, just and equitable ways to live together.

Prayers and blessings for us all as we continue to fight (non-violently!) for this nation we all love.

With hope and love,

Kimberly

Hard to Be Human

I’ve found myself saying this a lot lately:

It’s so hard to be human.

Especially among other humans.

Those in our family, workplaces, friendships, online or in the public square.

We are fearfully, wonderfully made, yes!

We are created in the image of God. Amazing!

God knows and loves us just as we are. Absolutely!

AND

We can be absolutely baffling, disappointing, maddening.

To both ourselves and one another.

Especially when we’re under stress.

And who is not stressed and anxious these days?

It feels like we’re living in a time when we’re starving

for real connection and companionship.

But we’re all so tired, busy, overwhelmed and anxious,

who’s got time to sit and listen to one another?

It can be easier to just keep on trucking, numb out or distract ourselves.

And yet, our failure to see ourselves and others clearly,

to know and care for one another,

is killing us.

The misunderstandings, resentment, fears and hostilities

are piling up in and between us.

Who is perfectly happy with the way things are in this country right now?

(Or in your family, workplace, friendships, faith community?)

How do we begin to clear the space between us,

seek paths of healing and reconciliation?

One modest suggestion:

Awareness.

Simple, yet strikingly missing in so many places.

Shine the light of awareness inside.

How are we really doing?

What are we needing and desiring?

(Not the things we think will fill us,

but leave us empty or wanting more of what doesn’t work)

What has us afraid?

What are we grieving?

How do we honor who we really are,

right now, in this very moment,

not how we used to be or wish we were,

or might one day, somehow by the grace of God be?

And we have to try to understand others,

those we call family, friends, colleagues, neighbors fellow citizens.

Especially those who are different from us.

If we are all God’s image bearers,

just think how much God we’re missing when we only stick to those just like us.

There is so much that binds us together as humans –

our desires for our lives, our children, and our world,

our fears and anxieties,

the experience of suffering.

AND we are also really different.

Put together differently.

Shaped differently by our life experiences.

How do we understand, honor, and respect,

even celebrate and learn from those differences?

How do we live and struggle and work and grow together,

in this beautiful, messy multicultural democracy,

trying to create a better world in which we can all thrive?

I think of the poignant line from poet Elizabeth Alexander,

“Are we not of interest to one another?”

There is so much pulling us outward.

I want to keep calling us inward.

What’s going on in you? Really?

How is it with your soul?

Where does it hurt?

What are you longing for?

May the journey inward bring more healing, love, and understanding our way.

And may it lead us to reach out to love and understand one another.

To clear the space between us.

It is so hard to be human.

May we be gentle and kind.

May we lighten the load for one another.

Human among you,

Kimberly

A Jesus-Come-to-Me Meeting

I had a little Jesus-come-to-me meeting yesterday.

Things were not going well, at least by my standards.

The cascade . . .

Sick child.

Week-long school break. (Didn’t we just start?)

Night wakings.

Restless sleep.

Sore throat. Head congestion.

Clingy child. Every utterance a whine.

No rest. No quiet.

Muddled brain.

Waning patience.

Alarming email.

Bad news.

Grief, where did you come from?

More bad news.

In days, I had meandered from the bright, tree-graced, blue sky spaciousness,

to the dark, dismal alley of my mental neighborhood,

with danger and threat lurking behind every corner.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Oh, right.

How quickly I forget when all is going my way,

when I’m my favorite version of myself.

How desperate I become when I grow weary,

become a less savory version.

How humbling,

and how liberating.

To pray . . .

Hey Lord, I’m struggling here.

I’m anxious and afraid.

I know I’m not in control,

which is so annoying and hard.

And the world? Jesus, it’s a mess!

I don’t even know where to begin.

And my mind? Also a muddled mess.

So here I am,

this version you especially love

Vulnerable, raw.

I’m surrendering.

Again.

My hopes and longings.

My fear and anxiety.

My lack of clarity about how best to be of service.

These dear ones I love.

This beloved country and earth.

Lord, come to my assistance.

Make haste to help me.

Help me to trust again,

in the slow work of God,

even when I don’t see the way ahead.

Celebrating Green Bough

Watercolor by Margaret Matthews

I just returned home from Adrian, GA, celebrating the 35th anniversary of Green Bough House of Prayer. And oh my, can I just say that I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven? There were all kinds of people. Singing hymns, laughing, offering prayers, feasting, shedding tears of joy and gratitude, dancing, telling stories about how much love, healing, grace, and transformation has happened on that holy patch of land, loved by the saints that abide there. It was truly a foretaste.

The celebration prompted me to search for and dig out an old journal, stacked in a Tupperware bin in my garage, still bearing ash from my fire in 2006, and cat litter, from trying to remove the stench. I turned the smelly, brown-edged pages to my entries from September 2002, when I went on my first retreat at Green Bough.

I had never been on a silent, directed retreat, didn’t really know what one was honestly. But lots of people I knew and loved had told me about Green Bough. Said I just had to go and see. There was no website or email, just a paper brochure with a land line phone (remember those?). So I called, got a live human named Steve, who literally wrote my name onto a large paper calendar to come be on retreat.

When the time came and I made my way from busy Atlanta down into south Georgia in the middle of cotton fields, I nearly missed it. There was no sign, and just a couple of regular looking, simple houses, across the road from a cinder block house with a large Confederate flag, barking dogs, and was that a goat I heard? This couldn’t be the place. I kept driving, checked the address again.

I ended up turning around and coming back. You’ll see a dove on the mailbox, he’d said. And sure enough, there was a wooden dove. I pulled in, parked my car, walked across the yard, and timidly opened the old screen door. Hello?

I stepped into a glorious little bookstore, chock full of titles and writers and little gifts that called to me. Pretty soon, a man of thin stature and deep eyes, emerged from a back room and greeted me with open arms, We’re so glad you’ve come. Let me show you around.

Later that afternoon, I met with Fay for spiritual direction. I had been seeing a spiritual director in Atlanta, so was accustomed to talking about my life and having her offer her wisdom and care in conversational response. Fay’s style was a bit different. She listened to me patiently and generously, with that same deep, knowing look I noticed in Steve. But she didn’t say much initially, leaving me to wonder if, in her advanced spiritual maturity, she found me to be so adolescent (I was, of course, spiritually speaking, but I didn’t want to be seen that way!)

In my insecurity and anxiety, I kept talking. She listened and listened. Then, she reached down and grabbed one of the most well-loved Bibles I’ve ever seen. It was swollen from how many times all those pages had been turned, full of bookmarks, loose papers, and post it notes. She silently put it in her lap. I watched in awe as she carefully turned the pages, hearing her fingers slide the thin pages until she found just the text she wanted to share with me.

Kimberly, I want you to pray with Psalm 139. It was a familiar psalm, one of my favorites in fact. But as she began reading it to me slowly, she would look into my hungry eyes and say verses as if they were meant just for me. When she came to the end of the verses she had in mind, she said, “And Kimberly, I want you to pray for the grace to know you are God’s beloved.” With that she looked at me so intensely, it was as if she was peering into my very soul.

My eyes brimmed with tears. Here I was a pastor in a church. I thought after a lifetime in the church and having gone to theology school for three years, I knew some things about God. I preached and taught and told my congregants about God’s love for them. I believed it in my head. But my tears signaled that somewhere deep down, I wasn’t so sure. Does God really know me and love me in the way the psalm suggests?

In that moment, I knew I didn’t know I was God’s beloved. But oh, how I hungered for that deep knowing!

So I kept coming back. Retreat after retreat. Season after season. Year after year. Green Bough became my spiritual home, this place where I could see and hear myself more clearly, where I could pray and reflect, and just rest and be still and know, where my deep, gnawing spiritual hunger was fed, my spirit refreshed, and my way illuminated.

Several years later, I remember driving down there, thinking about what I would share with Fay in spiritual direction. I was feeling self-satisfied, maybe even a bit righteous, about my spiritual growth and progress. I was confident that she would see and hear this in me, and give me a new spiritual "assignment."

She listened intently. She reached for her Bible. She gave me a new text. Here was the moment; I leaned in. And she said, “Kimberly, I want you to pray for the grace to know you are God’s beloved.”

Part of me was completely crestfallen and humbled. The tears came again.

And I was simultaneously relieved. I realized, it might take decades, or even a whole lifetime to really believe this foundational truth. And perhaps this is the one and only lesson. As I would hear Fay say, over and over and over again through twenty years, it is all about love. Knowing we are loved, and growing in that love toward everything and everyone, until it is all and all.

In this way, we never get to check it off our list, never arrive at spiritual perfection. There is always more to learn, more love to receive and to give. I think of this quote from Elizabeth O’Connor:

That is what Christianity is all about—becoming lovers.

The mission of the church is just loving people.

And our confession? What is our confession?

It is that we do not know how to love.

So I keep on going back, praying for the grace to know that I am God’s Beloved, the grace to love everyone else with such tender mercy.

Grateful beyond telling for the little slice of heaven on earth known as Green Bough, celebrating their 35 years of loving, my 20 years of being so well-loved,

Kimberly

Honoring Frederick Buechner

Frederick Buechner, one of my all-time favorite spiritual writers, passed away peacefully in his home Monday at the ripe age of 96. When I first received the text from a seminary friend, I heard myself groan. There is something profoundly unsettling about the death of your spiritual guides, and it has come more frequently in recent years . . . Bill Mallard (2014), Fred Craddock (2015), Thomas Keating, Eugene Peterson (2018), Macrina Wiedekehr (2020), Desmond Tutu (2021), and Thich Nhat Hanh (2022) to name a few. Even though I was not in regular contact with, or in some cases never personally met, these spiritual teachers, their embodied presence and continued living, teaching and writing gave me hope and solace.

Ever since I received the news of his death, I’ve been contemplating the profound effect Frederick Buechner’s writing has had on me. While it may sound dramatic, it is not an overstatement to say that Buechner's words changed the course of my whole life.

Looking for spiritual community as a freshman at Furman University, I tried out the various campus ministries. The night I attended the Baptist Student Union, the speaker quoted Frederick Buechner on the subject of vocation: "The place God calls you is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." I don’t remember if he quoted the whole excerpt from Wishful Thinking, (the first Buechner book I purchased in search of that quote in the days before internet), but that single quote seized upon my heart and imagination. I had never heard someone talk about work as vocation, and certainly never characterized it as something that should bring you deep gladness. In essence, Buechner was asking me a question it would take my whole lifetime to answer: Where do the world’s deep hunger and my deep gladness meet? I longed to discover that intersection.

In the years that followed, I realized the medical profession I was pursuing might meet a deep hunger and bring me great wealth and prestige, but I couldn’t say it would bring me joy. I knew others wanted it for me, but my own heart was not in it. But if not medicine, what was my calling? I was struggling and praying with the question, when Bill Daniel from my home church, Isle of Hope UMC, called to offer me the position as summer youth intern. Something in me resounded with a deep YES, and that was the summer, I didn’t just wonder what Buechner meant, but experienced it for myself.

I have been pursuing that sacred intersection ever since, continuing to ask if the work I am doing meets Buechner’s “qualifications” for calling (a) the work I most need to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. Finally, my math proclivities paid off; for me, a + b= deep meaning and joy.

It is stunning to think where I might be had I not gone to the Baptist Student Union, had not heard Frederick Buechner, had not received that call from Bill Daniel. And that reminds me of one of my other favorite Buechner truths:

Listen to your life.

See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.

In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness:

touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it,

because in the last analysis all moments are key moments,

and life itself is grace.

Part of the answer to Buechner’s vocational question has been the invitation to listen to my life, and to help others listen to theirs. Buechner and others have convinced me that God shows up in our real daily lives, in our stories, but usually in mysterious, even hidden ways. We have to pay exquisite attention. We have to listen and look for the grace.

Buechner also opened up a whole world of spiritual literature that I never knew existed. Growing up with only a family Christian bookstore in Savannah, shaped primarily by the theology of our pastors and preachers, I had never heard of writers like Henri Nouwen, Parker Palmer or Barbara Brown Taylor, Howard Thurman, Anne Lamott or Thomas Merton. These spiritual writers, past and present, wrote with such humanity and inspiration, such eloquence and profundity, they completely opened up the spiritual journey for me, offered me new ways to think, believe and live that engaged my whole being and changed absolutely everything. I have been voraciously feasting on such spiritual wisdom ever since, and inviting others to come satisfy their own soul’s hunger.

So it with both great sadness and immense gratitude that I sit with the news of Frederick Buechner’s death. I’m grateful for the reminder that our words matter, that a single sentence can change a whole life, possibly thousands. I’m grateful for spiritual wisdom passed on from generation to generation that feeds our souls and illuminates our paths. I’m grateful for the reminder to listen, to share our stories, to tend the world’s hunger, and to seek deep joy.

I’m grateful I got to sit in the Wellsprings circle last night and hear what Buechner had meant to others, how his wisdom had shaped their own spiritual journeys, how we keep coming back to certain excerpts and books for the truth he could so beautifully articulate. As we contemplated his powerful legacy, the grace flowed over all the distances and histories between us, and was especially palpable when Sally read this quote:

What’s lost is nothing to what’s found,

and all the death that ever was, set next to life,

would scarcely fill a cup.

Thank you dear Frederick Buechner for your life, your stories, your incredible words. As we grieve our loss, may it be just a cup next to the immensity of life you’ve given us.

If you do not already know his work, I cannot commend it highly enough. Here's an article about his passing and legacy. Here are my personal favorite books:

Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC

Telling Secrets: A Memoir

Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations

Gratefully,

Kimberly

Anchored in the Storm

I love the first day of summer break. The collective sigh of relief of making it through the school year. The sleeping in (well, some of us; our kids didn’t seem to get the memo!). The longer days with less urgency, more leisure. The anticipation of summer travels, camps, adventures. Suiting up for our first swim. The true refreshment of ice cream and lemonade.

AND I love the first day of school. Getting back into morning rhythms and routines. Buying new school supplies, and eagerly meeting new teachers and peers. The fresh energy of new learning and development. The anticipation of fall camping, the changing leaves, pumpkin patches, and crisp, cool air.

Even if we don’t have kids, and it’s been a minute since we were a kid, I believe something in us loves and needs the rhythms and changes of the seasons. So I hope and pray as we approach another seasonal transition, you have had some time for summer rest and refreshment, and feel some fresh hope and energy for how you might grow and develop this fall.

That being said, I also feel like these times are a bit like Atlanta weather in the summer. One minute, it can be gloriously sunny, and the next you’re hearing thunder and running for cover pelted by huge drops of rain. Putting Luca to bed a few evenings ago, we heard a distant rumble. His eyes grew wide, and I tried to calm him saying, I don’t think that thunder and lightning is close to us. He replied, It better not come any closer, because it hurts my feelings.

At least he’s honest about his fear. There is so much storminess in our culture: toxic polarization (If I had a quarter for every time some driver's given us the finger for having a Biden/Harris bumper sticker on our minivan . . .), forced pregnancy after the overturning of Roe, white nationalist extremism, climate crises, the ongoing war in Ukraine, of course, we are afraid.

I love the line in Roger Keys poem, Hokusai Says: “He says every one of us is frightened. He says every one of us has to find a way to live with fear.”

How can we find a way to live with fear, without letting it consume or paralyze us? How can we grow our hope and courage to live in these times? How can we keep showing up and giving ourselves in service to bring more peace and justice, more kindness and compassion in all the broken, suffering places?

I come back to the same two answers over and over again: community and spiritual practice. I know for me, participating in spiritual community and engaging in regular spiritual practices are the things that keep me rooted deep in God, the Source and Ground of our Being, growing in the wisdom and love that not just help us survive, but thrive and serve during these tumultuous times.

If you are looking for a place to root and to grow, I would love for you to check out these upcoming Deep Waters offerings. I feel fresh new energy for gathering our souls, our gifts, our hopes and visions to be a mighty force for good, withstanding any storm that may come our way.

Warmly,

Kimberly

Healing Our Divides

I used to dread election seasons. The ugly partisan politics. The attack ads. The endless requests for campaign donations. The debates and fact checks, polls and analysis. They seemed to bring out the worst in all of us. And 2016 took all of that to an unprecedented and dangerous low.

But something changed for me with that election.

Don't get me wrong. I've been sickened and outraged on a regular basis. But I've also been oddly energized. Despite and because of having one, now two small children, I've never taken my role as a citizen so seriously, never hungered for change so deeply. I've realized how much I've taken for granted and how much is at stake. For the health of our democracy, for the survival of our planet, and for the soul of our shared humanity.

I have felt compelled to listen to more news, read more articles, engage in more Facebook dialogues than ever before. But the thing that has kept me most inspired and hopeful has been engaging with real, live human beings. Having honest, searching and meaningful conversations about what really matters, and seeking a better way forward. Time after time, these interactions in the flesh, with people with thoughtful minds and compassionate hearts, have restored my hope in our humanity and in what America can yet be.

So as we set our sights on the mid-term elections of 2022, I want to continue those conversations, as a way of helping us all stay connected, sane, and hopeful, and as a space for discerning what is ours to do as we fulfill our role as sacred citizens to seek a more perfect union. I hope you will consider joining me and others for Healing Our Divides: A Spiritual and Political Support Group for this Election Season.

Another Kind of Christian

I am unapologetically Christian. While I have deep respect for other religions and do not believe Jesus is the only way to God, I find his life and teachings, death and resurrection utterly compelling. As difficult as it sometimes is, I’m committed to trying to follow him, which for me, means to try to live and love and die to myself like him. I believe the good news Jesus came to reveal is that we are God’s beloved children, loved beyond our wildest imagination, and that nothing--not our rejection of that love, not our poor choices or bad behavior, not even our death--can separate us from that Love. It is full of grace for one and for all, whether we choose to receive it or not. I would love for others to come to know the depth and breadth of that Love and Grace in which we are held, and I happen to believe it will grow more by attracting folks to its beauty than by trying to scare people out of unbelief.

All that said, it can feel hard to claim Christianity these days. A dear friend of mine told me it was harder for her to come out of the closet as Christian, than it was to come out as a lesbian. I could understand and relate. Why? Because so many people who call themselves Christian seem to live lives antithetical to the gospel, even justifying hatred and violence in the name of Jesus. We sing, “They’ll Know We are Christians by Our Love,” and yet some of the most foul, dehumanizing, cruel words and actions come from people who say they love Jesus.

It does not compute. And while I believe we are all imperfect and hypocritical and that God loves “those people” as much as anyone, I believe that disconnect is a huge barrier for many to embrace Christianity. Why would they accept a religion, or at least one version of it, that pits science against faith, that justifies racism, sexism, and homophobia, that fails to protect God’s creation, that spews hostility and judgment, when they say they follow a Lord who tread lightly on the earth, spent his time with the outcasts, taught mercy and nonviolence, who willingly gave his life in love rather than defending himself?

Is it any wonder so many people have left the Church, identify as “spiritual but not religious” or “none” on surveys about their religious life? If we bemoan that the Church as we know it is dying, it would behoove us to take a closer look at ourselves. Are we Christ-like, or at least trying to be? Do our lives reflect the love, mercy and generosity of our God?

I believe there is another way to be Christian, that the way of Christ still offers one of the most powerful hopes and visions for our broken world. But we may have to push past or shed some of what we were taught, or what we have ingested from cultural Christianity. Many of us have to go through a process of deconstruction and disorientation to find a faith that holds true, that we can claim and proclaim with integrity. There is no quick fix or easy path. It can be hard and painful to leave our childhood faith or faith community behind, to set out for a new way to believe and belong. And yet, something like the Promised Land, like resurrection life, like Love that is in and beyond all things, awaits us, is worth all the wilderness wandering, grieving and dying we must do along the way.

If you are searching for a more authentic and intentional way to be you, I hope Deep Waters can be part of your spiritual care team.

Most people who seek out spiritual direction, who come to Deep Waters groups, retreats, and workshops, are seeking another way to be human and faithful to God. Deep Waters intentionally offers space, community and spiritual wisdom and practices for sorting out what you really believe, and for shaping a life that aligns with those beliefs and values. It honors that each of us have a particular soul and spiritual journey, and yet we can still find community, a unity that does not require uniformity. We can be uniquely ourselves AND be together, loving and supporting each other on the way.

Each June, I love offering a small group that makes these intentions explicit. The Another Kind of Christian Sacred Circle invites us to share our own spiritual journeys with one another and to explore writings that expand and deepen our understanding of what it means to be Christian. This year, I’m delighted to explore another book by Father Richard Rohr, a Franciscan monk, founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, NM, and prolific writer and teacher. I can’t even begin to describe the impact Rohr has had on my own faith journey, and I’ve met countless others who feel the same way. Perhaps you’ve been moved by his work, or are hungry for such transformation?

I invite you to check out the group descriptionoerman.com/another-kind-of-christian and join us if you’re interested. I would love to seek and find another way together.

Hard to Follow Jesus

I’ve been thinking about how hard it is to follow Jesus.

Not just to believe in him or admire him,

but to follow him, to try to live and love like him.

Instead of seeking more wealth, power and recognition,

to choose what Henri Nouwen called the path of downward mobility.

Instead of defending our personal ambitions and rights at all costs,

to willingly give ourselves in service of others, for the common good.

Rather than judging people to be worthy of care and inclusion,

to see every single human as God’s beloved and to show them mercy indiscriminately.

It feels decidedly un-American.

Especially these days, with growing inequities, bitter divisions,

and raging hostilities among us.

You talk about caring for the vulnerable and marginalized or protecting the Earth,

confessing our national sin of racism or laying down our weapons,

and you’ll probably be branded.

You may receive the most scathing criticisms and even death threats

from people sporting gold crosses and “Blessed” T-shirts.

But if you do, you may just be on the right path.

Misunderstood and mocked, praised when you say what they want to hear,

and reviled when you speak uncomfortable truths.

The religious and political authorities want to silence you, take you out.

Those you count among your family and friends turn on you, deny and abandon you,

when you keep on insisting on love and nonviolence as the only way.

Sounds like someone we know.

Damn, it’s hard to follow him, to stay with him.

Especially in this week called Holy.

When his public approval ratings tank,

when the crowds shift from Hosanna to Crucify,

when he does not do a thing to defend himself,

when he willingly, lovingly goes to a brutal death,

praying for forgiveness for the very ones nailing him up.

It’s unbearable.

No wonder we’ve wanted to profess him instead of follow him.

To make of him a substitute, instead of a guide.

To make the cross a fashion accessory, not a way of life.

Lord, how did you do it?

How did you stay true to Love,

walk that lonely, painful road to Golgotha,

take all that hate and violence into your own heart and flesh?

I strive and struggle to be counted among those

who do not abandon you or your Way.

In the meantime, thank God you pray for me when you say,

Forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Grace and Peace to you this Holy Week.

Heavy Hearts

How’s your heart holding up these days, friend?

Our hearts are amazing in the fullness they can hold, from the heights of joy and awe to the depths of grief and loss, going the lengths from our own internal suffering to the people of Ukraine under attack, fighting and fleeing for their lives. If we are able to keep them open and soft, not harden to the pain and suffering of our world, they may very well feel saturated, like we cannot possibly take in one more drop.

What are we do with these full to overflowing hearts?

Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing. (Joel 2:12-13)

Weeping. Mourning. Lamenting. Yes, of course. Cry out! many Lenten texts instruct. When the pain becomes unbearable, we have to let it out somehow . . . in tears, in words, in images, in music, in protest, in ritual, in prayer.

We’re not always so good at this. Many of us have been taught in explicit or more subtle ways to push it down, suck it up, just push through. Maybe we have hardened our hearts because we just can’t take in anymore. Maybe we numb or distract ourselves, just try to stay really busy. Meanwhile pain pools, floods, drowns. No wonder congestive heart failure is a leading cause of death among us.

And it leaks, if not spills or floods out in other ways . . . angry outbursts, rashes, insomnia, stony silences, troubled dreams, violent words, crying “for no apparent reason.” Richard Rohr reminds us “If we do not transform our pain, we will transmit it.”

But there is another way. We can own what is in our hearts, all the lost and forgotten parts, all the hidden and pushed down things. We can shine a light, open a window, release a valve and let things flow . . . flow in and out, flow through. We can let our hearts break open, stretch wide, circulate with more fluidity. We can pour them out into the safe containers of loving community, honest prayer and ritual, creative expression, purposeful service.

We ignore our heavy hearts at our peril. God needs our open, tender, flowing hearts to bear with Christ, and in Christ, and for Christ the suffering of this world God so loves.

Friends, as we continue this Lenten journey, may we honor our hearts, bring them full and fleshy to the Heart of our hearts.